Whatever Will Be Will Be
by Silicon2123
Summary: This is, I believe, the first Irina Spasky fic. It begins when she is 17 in the KGB. It goes on to describe various events in her life, including her mysterious son! Rated T to be safe.
1. Willing

Irina Spasky was staring out the window, willing something to happen. Willing someone to come out and see her. Willing anything to come out of the pitch black darkness, but of course, nothing did. She sighed quietly. She shouldn't even be in the window where someone could see her, but she was a seventeen year old girl. What seventeen year old girl didn't want to be noticed?

And noticed she was. By her supervisor. Boy, did she ever get a beating, but she didn't mind. It was worth it. The thrill of breaking the rules was something she lived for. It even masked the pain of the welts on her back.

The next morning, Irina was called out of her room to the office. This time, she was actually cluless about why she was going. She hadn't done anything wrong since the night before.

"Ms. Spasky," her supervisor said, "Sit down." Irina remained standing. "Ms. Spasky," he pulled a small, black revolver out of his suit pocket, "Sit down." Irina quickly sat. "Ms. Spasky, I'm sure you are wondering why you are here." Though she was, she let her face betray no thoughts. "You are, for once, not in trouble." He continued. "In fact, you have been chosen."

"For what?" Irina blurted out before she could stop herself.

"For a scientific experiment. The men in the medical center want to try something new, and they need someone to try it on."

"So, why me?"

"Well, Ms. Spasky, you happen to be the only woman in this entire establishment." He said.

"Oh, and why does that make a difference?" She replied.

"Well, the medical department is trying something new. They needed a woman who was young and still a," he loosened his tie, "virgin."

"And how would you know that?" Irina asked indignantly. "I'm seventeen, and I'm actually quite pretty, and…"

"Ms. Spasky," her supervisor cut her off, "We are the KGB. We know." Irina resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. "Anyways, you are needed there immediately. Go now." Irina rose abruptly, strode out of the room, and slammed the heavy wooden door behind her.


	2. Stitches

When she got to the medical center, she came face to face with a large team of men dressed in all white with masks covering their noses and mouths. One of them stepped forward to address her.

"You are Ms. Spasky?"

"Depends who's asking. You are who?"

"I am the head of the surgeons in the KGB medical center. My name is not important. We would like to do this operation quickly, so please follow instructions quickly, and without questions."

"Oh?" The rebellious Irina raised her eyebrows. "And what if I don't?" The man took out a gun, not too different from that of her supervisor. Irina rolled her eyes.

"Let us begin. Take off your clothes and lie on that table over there." Irina looked to where the man was pointing and saw a small hard table with a single sheet. With a sigh, she stripped down to her underwear and sat on the table, the chill bringing goose to her arms. The man raised the gun and pointed it at her head. "All of your clothes." Irina opened her mouth, remembered the gun, then quickly closed it. With considerably reddened cheeks, she slipped off her undergarments. Irina noticed one of the men staring at her in a less then professional way. She calmly walked over to him and socked him in the cheek. His neck snapped and he let out a cry of pain, but not before she kicked him hard in the stomach, and he went down.

She sauntered back to the cold table and lay down. The head man walked over and quickly placed a mask over her face. Irina struggled against him, but gas was coming through the mask and making her sleepier by the second. Eventually, her body went limp as she slipped into unconsciousness.

When she woke up, she was lying in her bed, dressed in her uniform. She tried to stand up, but cringed. Her stomach was in intense pain. She pulled up her shirt to see what was wrong, and gasped. Black lines were running up and down her entire stomach area. She tentatively touched them, and found black wire. She counted 37 stitches altogether.

"Whatever will be will be, Irina." She told herself as a tear ran down her cheek. "Whatever will be will be.


	3. Sickness

Then came the sickness. Her alarm went off at 5:30 in the morning. Time to get up. She swung her legs over the bed, and promptly vomited. Irina fell back against her bed, unable to move for fear of throwing up again. As the minutes ticked by, she convinced herself to get up again and start her day. She pulled her clothes on and groggily made her way down to the food room. There she was met by a very angry supervisor.

"Where have you been?" he shouted at her. "You are fifteen minutes late! As, you know we do not tolerate this behavior…" Irina fell to her knees and vomited once more. After a few more seconds of unpleasant retching, she pushed herself up again. The supervisor looked very flustered. "Right, well they did say this would happen…"

"Wait, who said this would happen?" Irina said, then turned a shade of green and spit up a little into her hand. Her supervisor looked a bit sick at the sight, but Irina persisted with her question.

"Nobody." The supervisor snapped. And walked away. Irina then saw all of the faces in the food room staring at her. "All of you go to hell." She barked at them, and let fly her hand of vomit. She turned on her heel and confidently marched in the other direction, leaving shouts of disgust behind. She felt much better.


	4. Discovery

Determined to know about the mysterious "They," Irina set out to find her file. Every member of the KGB had a file. No exceptions. Inside it, all of a person's information was kept. Every time they excelled at something or got in trouble, it went in the file. She assumed her's was quite large. Irina knew the files were kept in the supervisor's office, but she didn't know where. Suddenly, a light bulb went off. Get the supervisor to take the file out. Easy. It didn't take Einstein to guess what she did next.

A few hours later, her supervisor found her once more in the window, this time in broad daylight. As she was marched down to his office, she couldn't help but smile at her cleverness. She sat in her chair without being asked and waited patiently as the supervisor brought out her file. Bingo. In the safe under the desk lay the answers to all of her questions.

She got her beating once more, but hardly noticed as she plotted her heist. That morning, at two-oh-three sharp, Irina, still in her uniform, crept out of her room and into the hallway. She followed the familiar path, stopping only to duck under or jump over the occasional laser beam. Then came the door. She knew there were probably tons of security devices hitched up to it, waiting for some fool to up and open the door. Irina Spasky was a trouble maker, a rebel, and hot tempered, but she was not a fool.

Irina took a tiny supercomputer out of her chest pocket and opened it quietly. After typing in her security code, she scanned the area for potential places alarms might be set off. All appeared as red dots on her computer. One by one, she disengaged them all. Irina excelled in disabling.

In a flash, Irina slipped into the room and closed the door again. She made her way to the imposing desk in the center of the room. She ducked under and found the safe. With her forehead. After a few words sure to send even the most ruthless dictator under his bed, she opened the safe. The fool supervisor hadn't properly locked it. Dumb ass, she decided, and slipped a narrow stiletto into a tiny crack, and succeeding in swinging the door open. She pulled out her pea sized flashlight and shined it at the names on the files. "Irina Nataliya Spaskya," one read.


	5. Life

Damn the KGB and their knowledge of everything!

Irina was back in her room at two-eleven. She smiled to herself. She loved when she did things right. Pulling out her flashlight once more, she opened the file. Irina sifted through all of the sheets until she found one labeled, "Medical." She eagerly ripped it out and devoured the writing.

"Irina N. Spasky has recently been chosen to participate in a new project.

Purpose: To see what happens when certain genes genes and chromosomes are tampered with.

Planned: One invasive surgery, in which an individual egg (containing modifications in the genetic information) is implanted into the patient's uterus. It is then fertilized with an injection of laboratory created sperm. Sixteen stitches should be used to sew.

Occurred: One invasive surgery in which an in individual egg (containing modifications in the genetic information) was implanted into the patient's uterus. It was then fertilized with an injection of laboratory created sperm. However, after sixteen stitches, the patient was still bleeding uncontrollably. Twenty one additional stitches were needed in order to ensure the patient's survival.

Will Occur: Vomiting and nausea for approx. 6 weeks, halting menstruation, weight gain, changes in appearance…

Irina stopped reading. In shock, she let go of the paper. Egg? Sperm? Irina Spasky was pregnant? Irina collapsed in a heap on her bed. She couldn't help crying. No matter what she did, she couldn't stop. This time she had no words to console herself.

In the end, she cried herself to sleep. After three hours, she woke up to nausea. Again. This time, she made it over to the toilet before she vomited up her dinner. She wasn't sure if she was vomiting from the sickness, or from the events of the night before. She raced down to the food room and found her supervisor. Quick as a cat, she grabbed his arms, locked them behind his back, and pulled out her revolver. Irina pressed it against his head and waited for him to realize his struggles were futile. When he finally stopped moving she growled, "thirty-seven stitches were needed to ensure the patients survival?" She raised her voice. "an egg containing genetic modifications?"

"Ms. Spasky, I can assure you that all of this was done for scientific prog…"

"I'm pregnant?" Irina shouted. Her supervisor did not answer. Irina dropped her hold on him, and lowered her gun. The teenager inside of her crept out, and her eyes glazed over. "What am I going to do?" She whispered, and ran away.

According to the paper on her bed, the baby was to mature faster than normal in her womb, and Irina was expected to give birth in three months. With a sinking feeling, she realized that was two months ago.

As the weeks progressed, the baby living inside Irina became quite obvious. Her uniform shirt no longer fit, and she was forced to borrow one of a man three times her size. The stomach fit okay, but she could have fit four arms in a single one of the arm holes. Every day, her duties became harder and harder to carry out, so she was forced to lie in her room, reading to pass the time.

One afternoon, Irina was reading a particularly good book, when she felt wetness in her underwear. She pulled down her pants to find a trail of clear liquid leading down her leg. "God Damnit." She muttered, then pulled her pants back up and went to the door, she flung it open and shouted, "Somebody please call the medical center!" By that time, everybody in her unit was well aware of what was occurring to her, and knew exactly what was happening when she called. Two of the medical center staff arrived at her room let themselves in.

By that time, it had been a few hours. Damned medical staff was so pathetic. They never arrived when someone needed them. They told her to take off her pants and by that time, she was in so much pain she didn't even care. Irina was white as a ghost, barely daring to breath for fear of setting off another wave of pain. It did nothing. The pain kept coming until she thought she was going to die. While she was seriously contemplating it, one of the doctors told her he saw a head. Irina shut out her thoughts and concentrated on her new child. Her new child! Irina Spasky had a child! She was so busy thinking about the thought; she almost didn't feel too much of an increase in pain as the child slipped out. Almost. The doctors started to clean the child, but Irina wouldn't have it.

"Hey! Don't touch it! It's mine." She shouted. Then realized what she said. She sounded like a toddler wanting her doll back. Irina didn't even care. As she held the tiny creature in her arms, she noticed it was a boy. She was so overjoyed she kissed its tiny head through all of the blood, then turned bright red. She could almost hear the doctor's thoughts. Imagine a ruthless KGB agent with a son! Irina shot the two doctors a death look and they got the message, leaving her alone with her baby.


	6. Flee

Nikolai, as she named the boy, was a very quiet baby. He hardly ever cried. He chose to babble, or thump his legs when he was hungry. Irina was so proud of her little son. Though it took her a while to get used to the word, it soon became a part of her vocabulary. One day though, her supervisor came to visit.

She nearly didn't let him in when he knocked loudly on her door, waking up Nikolai from his nap. As her supervisor came in, the nearly silent baby burst into tears. Irina completely understood. In an effort to quiet him up, she offered him her finger, which he quickly stuffed inside his mouth.

"Yes?" Irina spat at the man.

"Let me be brief. We need your son." That was it. No "good afternoon" or "how are you since we impregnated you without your consent?"

"You need him? For what?" Irina asked.

"Have you forgotten why we gave you this baby? This whole thing is an experiment! We wanted to see how long the fetus would grow, if you would survive birth, and now that it is born, we need to monitor it."

"Wh-what? No way! He's too little, and you obviously don't know what to do with a baby…"

"I was not asking your consent. He will be taken tomorrow. Good night, Ms. Spasky." And with that, he left the room, closing the door loudly behind him. Nikolai was startled again, but Irina smoothed his hair and calmed him down. As she looked at his peaceful face, she saw the light reflect off of his glassy eyes. No way. This was her baby, her son. Irina stood up and opened her window. Baby held firmly to her chest, she jumped. She landed like a cat and fled the grounds. She took nothing, but left nothing behind.


	7. Papa

Days blurred with the months in Irina's head. The time seemed to fly by as Nikolai grew into a toddler, and kept on growing. Irina schooled him by herself. She sought no man, as she saw no need to provide the boy with a father. He was getting along fine, and men just got in the way. As they went from happy, to trying, and back to happy times, Irina added one more word to her vocabulary. Mother. She loved her son like she had loved no other. She'd die for him if she had to.

Irina and Nikolai kept on the run, never staying in a city for more than six months. Nikolai liked the different places he got to go to, and learned to accept the fact that his questions sometimes went unanswered. Irina had to rely on her mind to get her through trouble spots, though. One day when Nikolai was four, Irina took her son to the park so he could go on those swings he always liked. He said it reminded him of when he was a baby. For some reason, the long drop was familiar to him. Irina did not elaborate, though his memory astounded her. As they were walking down the street, Nikolai stopped and looked at another boy who appeared to be about his age. He held on to his mother's hand, just like him. Unlike him, his other hand was occupied by another adult. Someone who looked nothing like his mother. It appeared to be a male. He heard the other boy call him "papa." Nikolai tugged on his mother's hand. "Mama, where is my papa?" Irina froze.

"Why would you want a papa, Nikolai? We are so happy together! Let's go and get some ice cream." Nikolai happily agreed, but as Irina watched brown liquid drip down his chin, a feeling of sadness and confusion crept over her. She wondered for the first time in five years who his papa was.

Secrets were never safe from a KGB agent, even one who had not operated in four years. Disguised in a black wig and colored contacts, she contacted her old supervisor. He never suspected a thing. Irina arrived at the café they were meeting at, being careful to disguise her normal pace and stature. "Hello! How do you do? I am a scientist from America who has read about an experiment you have done on a woman. It involved a genetically modified baby, correct? Can you tell me more?"

"Yes." Her old supervisor replied. "Since this woman is now presumed dead, I can give you any information."

"Ah, good." Irina asked a few general questions before she launched her real inquiry. "I understand the woman's name was Irina. Do you know the father's name?"

"Hm. It's been a while since then. We searched far and wide before we found a teenager who was perfect for the experiment. Mind you, he was younger than the subject at the time. Oh, what was his name? Viktor something? Oh, Vikram! Vikram Kabra!"

Irina was trained not to show emotion at times like these. "Thank you for your time. That will be all." She said a little too briskly, and all but ran out the door. Vikram Kabra. She wondered if he knew. He did.

Nikolai was eight years old when Isabel found out. Boy, was she furious. She never let on to Irina, nor Vikram of her knowledge, rather she kept it balled up inside of her, burning a hole through her common sense. The boy will die, she thought. He will die.

It can be said the Nikolai Spasky perished at Isabel's hand.

Irina was murderous. Her old revolver was polished and ready to be aimed at Isabel's head, but it never made it that far. The murderous feeling gave away to grief, and Irina, revolver and all, collapsed in the snow. Her tears froze to her face in the icy darkness. She wiped them away, breaking skin. The raw skin burned as the wind whipped relentlessly around her, tangling her hair. As the elements attacked her newly exposed self, Irina Spasky cried corrosive tears.

Not long after, she rejoined the KGB. She had to take her anger out on someone. The first time she pulled that trigger, she shot her revenge out with the bullet. Someone would die for this deed. If it couldn't be the one who did it (Believe her, she tried, but Isabel was married to the leader of the Lucian Branch. That was a problem that frequently got in the way of her plans), it could be someone else. She wasn't picky. She just wanted bodies to hit the ground hard. It helped avenge the death of her son. The word she had worked so hard to accept now had to be discarded. She no longer had a son. She was no longer a mother.


End file.
